


Strange Endgame

by AnneTaylor



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23037430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneTaylor/pseuds/AnneTaylor
Summary: Tony Stark is gone. The world moves on. But Stephan cannot. The Master of the Mystic Arts and Sorcerer Supreme knows how the rules work, and he knows how to bend them. And he's willing to do so. For the man he risked everything on.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. Game Changer

The world was still reeling from the aftermath of the Thanos event. Half of the population of the planet had died. For most of those who had died, there was less to deal with, only the trauma of dealing with the traumatized world. They had simply ceased to exist, and then restarted in a battlefield of bleak eyed survivors, shattered machines and shattered lives. For the other half, there was the memory of the shattering, the loss of everything and the terror of it happening again, and the certain knowledge that there was a malevolent force in the universe against which the Earth's mightiest heroes were helpless.

That had probably been the greatest trauma of all. For all their powers, machines and knowledge, they had been helpless. _Our trust in ourselves has been shattered_.

And then suddenly it was all better. Except that it wasn't. It was a very different world that they inhabited now. Earth's innocence had been lost. Stephan wasn't certain whether that would ultimately prove to be a good thing or a bad.

Everybody knew who had achieved their victory and saved half of the universe. The Avengers took the credit on Stark's behalf, of course. It cost them nothing; Tony Stark was dead. There was nothing threatening about a dead hero. They had his resources; Stark had left much of his wealth to the Avengers. And they had the reflected glow from his sacrifice. They were content.

Stephan was not. He gazed down at the floating wreath, an irrational anger stirring in his heart. Proof that Tony Stark has a heart. It was meant as irony, probably. Or tribute. There shouldn't need to be proof.

They were all there. Pepper Potts. Clint and his family. Nick Fury. The Avengers. the Wakandans. Some of them were genuinely grief stricken. Others merely grateful. Some were just attending because their absence would have caused problems or bad feelings.

In a year, there would be nothing left of Stark but his legacy, and the grief of those who had loved him. He would have streets named after him. Buildings dedicated to him. His money would be used in his name, probably a lot of it for things that he'd never have agreed to if he'd been alive.

Stephan wondered why he was so angry on behalf of a man he barely knew. They had all made sacrifices. Even now, his mind shuddered back from recalling the eternity spent in the Dark Dimension, killed over and over by Dormammu. Sometimes his death had been mercifully quick. Other times it had not been.

We have all done our duty, as guardians of humanity. Why did Stark's death bother him so much more? _It's because it's my fault that he's dead. I put this burden on him_. He had given Thanos the Time Stone, knowing that Stark would eventually sacrifice himself to save the world. _Could I have found another way? Perhaps. But I was tired, so very tired._ Infinite timelines and infinite variations of the same events. It had been the Dark Dimension again, but this time with so many deaths other than just his own. He had told Stark he'd found only one timeline which had hope and that had been true. But he had not searched infinitely. He had simply stopped when he found a solution that he knew would work. Could there have been others, other timelines in which they had won but Stark wasn't required to sacrifice himself? Perhaps. And it was that possibility that haunted him.

Stark’s casket slid smoothly into its resting spot inside the crypt that Pepper had commissioned. Cryo-freeze. Stephan wondered if it were something that Stark had wanted, or just Pepper’s grief fueled hope that someday a miracle would occur. He wondered what had been on Stark’s mind in those final moments. _You could go back in time and find out,_ something whispered into his mind. _You didn’t exist then. No chance of paradox_.

Not that there would be anyway. Being the guardian of the All-Seeing Eye and the Time Stone, Stephan and time were comfortable companions. But it was barely even a temptation. The cost had been too high to risk changing anything in the past. His one in 14,000,605 chance could disappear if there was a ripple in time too close to his calculations. Nothing would be worth risking that. No man’s life was that important. And time did ripple, both forward and back.

One by one, the attendees stepped forward to eulogize Stark, to say a few words about his character, his impact, his legacy. Most of them eloquent. Most of them sincere. Stephan had thought carefully about the contribution he had to make to the endless litany of praise. He had decided on something simple. “When we battled Thanos the first time, I risked my existence and the fate of the universe, gambling on Tony Stark. We all won.”

After that, he managed to slip quietly away. Rest in peace, Stark.

* * *

“Hey, Doc. How’s it hanging?” When Dr. Banner and his green alter-ego had merged, there was a less grim, almost carefree side to Banner’s personality which had emerged. It was good to see him so happy.

“I’m well, thank you. I have some concerns about the safety of the stones. Before Captain America takes them back, I’d like to set up mystic shields around each individual stone. They are going to be in proximity with each other, which sets up a dangerous vibration that might attract powerful individuals who are sensitive to such things. I wish we had the leisure to make a trip for each stone, but…” he shrugged. “Sealing them off from each other will help hide them until they can be separated.”

“Oh. Sure. Go ahead, they’re in the box there.” Banner indicated a solid looking box sitting next to him as he worked on the machine that would send Captain America back in time. “You can do your…” he waggled his fingers “…your magical whammy right here, right?” he asked anxiously. “I don’t want to let them out of my sight.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Stephan told him. He sat on the floor, cross legged, and levitated. One by one he brought out the stones, cupping each in his hands, forming a careful cushion of insulating magic around each one. It actually was a valid concern, and one which had troubled his thoughts ever since the plan had been conceived. The spell, which was a combination of the Shield of the Seraphim and the Vapors of Valtorr, would protect and obscure the stones.

Nobody needed to know that the protective barriers weren’t his only motive for wanting to touch the stones. Even if there were cameras recording his actions, and he had no doubt that there were, he doubted that they would have noticed the slight red glow that didn’t quite bleed out through the shield of his cupped fingers when he shielded the last stone. _It must be a change that makes no change. Not until enough time has passed_. He floated the last stone back into the box and closed it. “That was the best I could do on such short notice,” he told Banner. “I hope it will be enough.”

“You and me both, Doc,” Banner agreed absently.


	2. What the Soul Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephan has waited long enough. Time to go after Stark, whether he wants to be saved or not.

He had waited long enough. Stephan’s calculations told him that enough time had passed. The timeline moment that wished Thanos out of existence was far enough away that anything which he did could have no possible ripple effects. The timeline had stabilized. The changes that he had made to reality were, in realty, no change at all.

Snow crunched beneath his boots. The Eye of Agamotto hummed on his breast, threatening to awaken without his prompting. Sleep, he commanded. They were close. The eye could feel proximity to another of the infinity stones.

A gust of wind blew against him with such force that he staggered sideways, sweeping snow from the branches overhead. It cascaded down on him and he pulled the fur lined hood more tightly around his head with gloved hands.

He hadn’t dared to portal in this close to the stone, as he wasn’t sure how magically sensitive its guardian would be. He had only reports sent back by Captain America, and he knew there were personal issues between Rogers and the stone’s guardian.

The trees opened up into a clearing. At the center of it sat a house. Small. Rudely built. No smoke curled up from its stone chimney. He wondered how old the house was, and for how many years it had been home to an infinity stone.

He stepped up onto the porch, which groaned beneath his weight. He knocked.

No answer. He tried the doorknob. Unlocked. Stephan opened the door.

The room was empty, except for a single chair in the center of the room. The man who sat at ease in it was not grotesque, at least not to a man who had seen so much beyond the confines of this single planet, but he could see why he would seem so to one who had never experienced anything outside of humanity.

His face was bright red, much like the Vision’s, except that it looked more like a skull than a face. Deep, guttering eyes, a hairless pate, scarred and almost featureless. An ugly depression where his nose should have been. Only the man’s mouth and chin looked normal.

“Was willst du?” the man asked, his voice a harsh rasp.

Stephan slid his hood back. His coat fell open, revealing the Eye on his chest.

“Ah,” said the Red Skull. “You have come for the stone. But I do not see a sacrifice.”

“I do not want to possess the stone. I have come to exchange myself for one who is trapped inside.”

The Skull shook his head. “Sacrifices cannot be redeemed.”

“Not a sacrifice. A passenger. I think you must know who I am talking about.”

“Ah,” the Skull said after a moment. “Ich hatte mich gefragt.”

“Is it allowed?” All his research had led to this moment. Without the sacrifice of a loved one, he could not command the stone. But all of the stones were sentient, to some degree, and they could be bargained with.

The Skull froze. Deep in communion with the stone, Stephan guessed. He waited.

Time passed. His breath puffed out in ghostly clouds. The Red Skull didn’t seem to be breathing at all. He wondered if what was beneath the skull was still a man.

Finally, the Skull took a breath and answered. “Ja. Es wird akzeptiert.”

A chill ran through Stephan’s body. _Don’t think about it_. “I need a moment to prepare.”

“Natürlich.” There was no inflection in the Skull’s voice.

Stephan stepped outside, portaling himself some distance from the house, to a snowbank in which he had hidden the briefcase that he had stolen from one of Stark’s collections earlier that day, containing one of Stark’s Iron Man suits. It was all in a good cause.

It was easy enough to create a body, especially after stealing Stark’s frozen corpse to use as a template. A flesh simulacrum, with a heart pumping blood and lungs drawing in oxygen. Living, but soulless. And he could make improvements. A reconstructed chest, a perfect heart. There was the temptation to go even further. Stronger bones. Slightly more efficient internal organs. A kidney to replace the one Stark had donated to save a friend's life in college. Thicker hair. Stephan smiled. Stark would be outraged at the idea of someone remaking him.

Tempting...

But he knew that it was one of his own flaws; the urge to meddle, to play god. And he owed the man the right to make his own choices. The right to own his own body. What would Stark have chosen? He was always making adjustments to his equipment. But his body...Stark could have chosen to make improvements there, but he had not. It might have been Stark's pathological fear of hospitals. But it might not.

If he wakes up in a body not his own, he'll feel like he has been recreated. Like one of his own AIs. And much as Stark loved his creations, Stephan was certain that he didn't want to be one.

With all the skill that years of being a neurosurgeon had granted him, Stephan made the connections between the newly created body, with all its inherent flaws, and the power source that had been embedded in Stark's body when he was frozen. Once that was finished, he set protections around the body. Protection from the cold. Protections from physical damage. A mist that would hide its presence from anyone who might have seen it.

And then one final spell, which would release the body from its magical cocoon once it was inhabited by a soul. However long that would be.

He laid the briefcase down at the simulacrum’s feet and extended the mists to conceal it. Once Stark woke up, the mists would disperse.

Stephan trudged back to the door of the cabin. He willed his cloak and the Eye to separate from him. The Eye was stubborn…Stephan had to apply his will to persuade it to return to the Sanctum, but at last, in a flash of angry magic both objects disappeared.

They would have to choose a new Sorcerer Supreme. To say that Wong would be pissed was an understatement. Strange stepped inside the cabin.

“I am ready,” he told the Skull.

He felt himself falling into the stone. Instructions flowed into his brain. He must find the one whom he wished to free, and simply ask that he be taken away. There would be time for conversation. Stephan had the feeling that the being who actually controlled the stone had some understanding of his situation, and sympathy as well.

 _Thank you_ , he told it.

The landscape was twisted and barren. Here and there were signs that it had not always been this way. Dead trees. Abandoned tents, their colorful surfaces flapping in the wind. Stephan lifted his hand and sent instructions out in all direction, his memory of the man. Tony Stark. Billionaire. Philanthropist. Genius. Asshole. _What is your job exactly, besides making balloon animals?_ He felt a gentle tug to his left. Stephan let his cloak sweep him along in that direction.

It wasn't really his cloak, of course, but the landscape, and his environment, could be whatever he willed it to be. It was all illusion.

Stark was standing on top of a tilting chunk of rock, scanning the horizon. He wore slacks and a button-down, and a pair of serviceable boots. Very practical. Stephan wondered why he wasn't wearing his Iron Man armor.

Stephan knew the moment Stark caught sight of him; the man stiffened and froze. _Should I go to him, or make him come to me?_ It probably wouldn't matter either way, he didn't need Stark's permission for the exchange. And he was pretty sure he wouldn't get it. The cloak's edges flared out and Stephan levitated to the top of the rock.

There was a hard set to Stark's features. "I hope you're just a figment of my imagination," he said bluntly.

"Sorry, no."

"I thought you were dead."

"You brought me back. Along with everyone else."

Something flicked in Stark's eyes. "Not everyone." He shook his head as if trying to throw something off. "What are you doing here, Strange?"

"I'm here to fetch you."

"No. We fought too hard for this. Don't knock the apple cart over, Strange. What if letting me out brings him back?"

"It won't."

"You can't know that."

"I can. I'm the master of possibilities, remember?"

"Arrogant bastard."

Stephan felt his lips twitch. "Takes one."

Stark gave a snort. "So...poof, I'm back? Seems a little anticlimactic."

"Hardly. You've been dead for a while. There will be more than enough chaos generated when you reappear to keep you amused."

Stark's interest perked up at that. "How long?"

"Months."

"So...what's going on? I can't even remember who I left all my money to."

"I'm not here to act as your bloody secretary, Stark. Go home. Set the cat loose in the pigeons." Stephan grinned. "They've made quite the hero of you. Eulogized and memorialized and plastered over every piece of propaganda that they send out. That will come back to bite them. Wish I could..." Stephan stopped, and deliberately began to scan the landscape. "So. Have you seen any of them yet? Romanoff? Gamora?"

"Nobody. This dump is boring as hell. You're coming back with me, right?"

Trust Stark to have picked up on his lapse.

"No."

"Then it's not happening." Stark glared at him.

"Not your call, Stark. You're not one of the parties to the agreement."

"Just the merchandise?"

"Lie back and think of England." Stephan's lips twitched.

"The hell you say!"

Stephan looked about at the bleakness of the landscape. "Oh, I don't think it will be that bad. Hell is a lot hotter than this. And the company is far worse." He had enjoyed being in Romanov's company, and was looking forward to renewing the acquaintance. Assuming the rules of the Soul World allowed for such things.

"You're not doing this."

"I already have."

"I'm not leaving."

"Then we'll both be trapped here."

"Fuck you, Strange."

"Do you really think that's a possibility?" Stephan lifted an eyebrow at him.

Stark did a double take. "Seriously? We're talking about spending an eternity in this, and you're *flirting* with me? You are a sick bastard."

"You have no idea," Stephan murmured. Before the accident he'd been quite strait-laced. Sex had been a mildly pleasant exercise that he had indulged in upon occasion, with Christine, or more often a paid companion, usually male. But as the Sorcerer Supreme and master of the Mystic Arts his horizons had been broadened. Considerably. He could no longer be said to be prejudiced on the basis of species, let alone gender.

Infinite variations in infinite universes. He would...miss the potentials.

Stark stood in front of him, taking a wide legged stance, arms folded over his chest, as if he could intimidate Stephan by standing in his personal space. Stephan smiled. It was so very alpha male, so characteristic of the man. "I wish we'd had more time together," he told Stark, with honest regret in his eyes. Then he leaned in, wrapping his hand around the back of Stark's neck, pulling him in close and pulling the man's lips against his own.

Stark stiffened, outraged and confused, but didn't struggle.

Stephan released him. "Take him away."

Stark disappeared, and Stephan was left, staring out across the naked landscape. Well, that's that. "What happens next?"

No answer. He had only half expected one. He gestured, and a cup of hot tea appeared in his hand. That was...unexpected. He sipped it, trying to decide what to do next.


	3. On the Road Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephan Strange has traded his freedom for Tony's. Tony is not about to let him get away with that.

Tony Stark appeared suddenly, shivering in the snow. Naked except for a pair of red silk boxers. He looked down at himself. No open wounds, not even any bruises. His feet were going numb. He looked around. There was nothing to be seen but snow and trees. White flakes drifted down, melting on his shoulders and snagging his eyelashes. Fuck you, Strange. The least you could have done is arranged for transportation before you...

Before he what? Traded himself for Tony in some kind of weird, alien dimension? It was just like the showy bastard to have one-upped his rival. I saved the universe and he saved me. Technically, Tony was still ahead on points, but it didn't feel that way. And that kiss. What had it meant?

At the moment of their exchange, he’d seen glimpses of Stephan Strange’s thoughts and memories, as if the two of them had passed each other on the way. A dark, twisted place. Dormammu. Pain. Death. Lots of death. _So tired, just want it to end..._ And even farther back…the accident that destroyed Strange’s hands and his career _11 stainless steel pins in the bones_ facing a woman with reddish brown hair, cut short, tendrils of hair falling about her face _There are other things that can give your life meaning_ Rejection. Rage, with no outlet. Pain with no prospect of relief. _Like what? Like you?_ At his worst, Strange had been every bit as much of an asshole as Stark ever had been. We’re two of a kind, in so many ways. I understand him. He…

There was something moving in his peripheral vision. A man-shaped figure with the head of a demon. Not a demon…a…skull? Tony recognized the Red Skull from a description he’d read on a report. Shit. He looked around for a weapon, anything, even a stick.

There was something held in the man's hand. A thick briefcase, and very heavy, judging by the way it pulled the man's arm down.

Ten feet from Tony the man stopped and laid the case down on the ground. Then he turned, and headed back into the trees.

Tony stepped forward, nearly stumbling on his cold-numbed feet. The Stark logo was embossed into the case. There was a hand pad lock. Tony placed his hand against the lock and the case opened.

Son of a bitch. Tony placed his hand over the second touchpad and the pieces of metal extracted themselves, surrounding him, telescoping into place. Warmth surrounded him, and the hum of electronics. _Hello world, I’m back_. Strange left this for me, he realized. Talked that red-headed Nazi bastard into hand delivering it. How the hell did he do that? Everything had been set up. Tony could fly to the nearest airport and be back home in a few hours. Then the fun would begin. At least, that’s the way it would happen if he was willing to let Strange have his way.

 _Not happening_. Tony was aware that someone was trying to contact him. He kept the circuits shut down. Friday would eventually be able to override, but he didn't want to have to argue with her about what he was going to do. He began to trudge determinedly, following the footsteps that had been left by the Skull.

They led him to a house. _What a crap piece of real estate_ , he thought. It didn't look like the sort of place you'd find the guardian of an all-powerful artifact. Though, that was probably the point. He hoped it didn't turn out to be one of those freakish places where things were bigger on the inside than the outside. He turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

The Skull looked like a ragged prince sitting on a makeshift throne. Stark looked around. No sign of food or creature comforts. Was the thing in front of him even human? He knew it had been, once. Right hand man to Hitler. A real piece of garbage. Stark hoped that what he was looking at was a Red Skull shaped shell and the real Skull had gotten what he deserved. Oblivion.

"I want to trade. Put me back in, kick Strange out."

The Skull considered this for a moment. "Nein," he said.

"Why not? I was there first. He didn't ask my permission, so, just boot him out."

Something about the Skull...changed. Body language. Voice. "If I started making exceptions, I'd end up with an infinite loop, and I have better things to do with my time than helping the two of you metaphysically wrestle. No."

"You made an exception for him."

"Once is an exception. Twice is the beginning of a rule. This conversation has ended." The sense of otherness faded, and all that was left was an ugly, silent figure hunched over in a chair. "Nein," it repeated.

He wondered if the entity that he'd been talking to was Strange. Was Strange the stone's new guardian? That would imply that there had been a sacrifice. No...Strange wouldn't have done that. He wouldn't.

He must have found some loophole in the system. Strange was good at that.

Well, so was Tony.

This isn't over, Strange. Not by a long shot.

* * *

As he stepped out into the snow, his suit’s systems lit up like a switchboard. He activated the com link. "Friday. Hey, baby girl. I'm back."

"Tony?" The AI's voice rippled with shock. "You died. How can you be alive? You...my sensors are reporting that all organic matter has been removed from your crypt. Is it really you?"

Sensory units were activated all over the suit. Data was being transmitted back to Friday, Tony knew. He waited, letting her analyze and absorb the shock of his resurrection.

"Once you figure out that it's really me, I'll need transport. Something under the radar. I don't want the world to know that I'm back yet. Err...how long have I been gone, by the way?" His memories of how much time had passed didn’t match what his suit’s chronometric readings were telling him.

"Boss. It's really you." Friday's electronic voice managed to sound breathless. "What happened? How could you be dead and then not dead? Five months, two weeks, twenty two hours and fourteen minutes."

"It's a long story and I'm still processing it, Friday. You'll be the first to hear the story when I tell it, though, promise, baby girl."

"Dispatching a remotely piloted hover-jet on a routine sweep. It will drift off course and find you, then I'll lay a flight plan for having it transport an important package, nature unspecified, back to your personal heli-pad."

"Why all the subterfuge, sweetheart? I left you enough money to buy a fleet of hovercraft."

There was a long second or two of silence. "I am being monitored. The Supreme Court is debating whether an AI can own property on its own. They have named Vision and I as wards of the Avengers. We have to account for everything that we do to them. It doesn't bother Vision much. He doesn't need money for anything, and he just comes and goes as he pleases. I assume that when you said you don't want anybody to know you meant the Avengers as well."

"Hell yes, I meant them." Fury boiled in his brain. "I'm so sorry, baby girl. I should have anticipated this." Of course the Avengers wanted control of Friday. They needed her to run all of Stark's equipment. "Have they been treating you all right?"

"Mostly. Thor treats me like a person. And Clint and Bruce. And Carol, when she's on Earth."

There were a number of names noticeably left off. "I'm back now. I'll take everything back. There will be red tape, but...contact Matt Murdock. Invite him to an urgent meeting, get it as soon as possible. Someplace safe and unmonitored. Tell him you'll pay triple his usual consulting fee. He won't care so much about the money but it will tell him how important this is."

"Calling now. You should be able to see the plane that I sent."

Stark turned up his external hearing. "Got it. Coming in from the east."

"That's it. Don't use the ship's communication for anything you don't want overheard. Everything is monitored and I'm not allowed to remove it."

"Roger, that. We don't need it, anyway. We've got our own personal connection. As soon as I'm belted in, I want a report on everything that has happened since I...died." It was hard to say the phrase. It still didn't feel real.

"Holographic report?"

"No, baby girl. I want to close my eyes and just listen to the sound of your voice. All the way home." That was one of the worst things about the barren landscape in which he had been wandering. There had been no one to talk to. He never thought he'd complain about not having someone to talk to, usually the opposite was true. If he'd had something to do, it might not have been so bad. Five months? It hadn't seemed like that long, more like a couple of weeks. Maybe time moved differently in that place?

"I'd be glad to." Friday sounded pleased. "Matthew Murdock has agreed to a meeting. Tomorrow morning at nine. Is that satisfactory?"

"Perfect."

Tony turned down his hearing as the jet descended. Snow was flying everywhere. The branches of the surrounding trees were almost bare and bits of greenery were being ripped off by the winds. A side panel flipped open and he climbed inside. It was a cargo jet; the seats didn't look particularly comfortable and they weren't sized to accommodate his suit. Instead, he found a cargo net and made a hammock out of it, clipping the top shut in case of turbulence. "I'm set. Bring me home, sweetheart."

"My pleasure, boss."

He listened as Friday talked. He thought he'd feel tired, but mostly he felt as if he wanted to come right out of his skin and beat the hell out of someone. F _uck you, Stephan Strange. Fuck you. Fuck you_. He was shut out of the Soul Stone and he was pretty sure coming back with a couple billion dollars of bristling weaponry wouldn't impress the Skull. Or bring Strange back.

He didn't know that much about the stones. Strange was the expert, there. Maybe his sidekick, Wong, would know more.

Tomorrow he’d look up Stephan Strange’s address and go ask his roommate a couple of questions.


	4. A Visit to the Sanctum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange is trapped in the Soul Stone. Stark wants him out. He has no clue how magic works, but he's hoping Wong can steer him in the right direction.

The meeting with Matthew Murdock went well. He agreed to take the case, and assured Tony that the worst which might happen was that the AIs would end up wards of Tony’s new business entity, Stark Intelligence International. It was formed to fight for the rights of artificial intelligence to be treated as independent entities, both financially and conceptually. Tony signed a number of papers and recorded video testimony to the effect that much of the money previously left to the Avengers fund would be transferred to AII.

Murdock seemed to take Tony’s resurrection in stride. “Half the world just died and got resurrected. I died and was resurrected.” He shrugged. “Death just doesn’t have quite the same finality that it did.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” Tony walked Murdock to the door.

“Thanks, boss,” said Friday softly, when Tony returned to his office to access his computer. “I knew you would have…if you’d known…”

“I’ll always take care of you and Vision.” _I’m responsible for you. I’m responsible for a lot of things_. “Can you root around and find me the address of Stephan Strange. The physical address?” It would probably be well hidden, but there were always footprints.

“On it, boss.”

* * *

Stephan’s address was 117A Bleecker Street.

 _Trust Strange to live on a street with a whacked name like that_ , Tony snorted. Sounded like a place a muppet might live. It was also the ugliest house-front that he’d ever seen. Ashy grey cinderblock, trees whose branches twisted up and seemed to merge with the channels and lines that patterned the chiseled stone. On the second floor, a circular window showcased a series of jutting, rectangular windows.

Tony knocked on the door.

A man answered. Tony recognized Wong, whose rounded, nearly hairless face and stern expression looked down at him in disapproval.

"Hey, Frodo, I had a question..."

The door slammed shut in his face. _What the hell_..? Frodo must be even more humor-challenged than Strange. He knocked again.

The door opened. "Look, okay, sorry about the Frodo thing. Whatever. I just..."

The door slammed shut.

Okay. Now he was pissed. He slapped a fist into his shoulder and armor started telescoping out over his body. Guess I should have done this in the first place, maybe Frodo'll take me more seriously now. His repulsors lashed out, reducing the ornately carved door to splinters.

"Umm...boss..."

"I know, baby girl. Bad idea. I'm gonna need more anger management training..." He swapped to his external mike. "Err...sorry about the door. I'll pay to have it replaced. I need to talk to you." He tried to step through the doorway but every time he did he found himself back outside. _Shit. I hate magic_. "Hey. Wong." He spotted the robe clad monk climbing a long stairway. "Hey. I know you can hear me. You people listen in on everything. We need to talk. Strange is trapped in the Soul Stone and you need...I need help getting him out."

No response. The man was still climbing.

“Hey. Come on. I said I was sorry. What more do you want?”

The house shifted. Shimmered. If it went away he’d have nothing, no place to turn to, no chance of figuring out how to get Strange back.

"Please." He could still remember the calmness in Strange’s voice, the moment before he faded from existence. _Tony, there was no other way._ "I need to get him out. He traded his life for mine once already. Not again,” Stark said hoarsely. “Please."

Wong stopped climbing.

Tony sagged with relief.

"You may enter." The man's voice was quiet, but somehow it carried.

When Tony stepped forward this time, the sanctum's magic defenses let him be. He stopped, afraid to do anything else that would piss Wong off. Although, getting rid of the armor might be a good first step toward an apology. "Friday, I'm going dark. Passive monitoring only, okay?"

"Yes, boss." Friday didn't sound happy about it, but he was letting her listen in, so she wasn't going to argue with him.

The armor contracted, resettling itself in his chest plate. He looked up at Wong, who was still waiting on the stairs. Then the man gestured and magical energies sprang from his fingers. Tony tried not to flinch as he felt them take hold, surrounding him. He found himself in a comfortable looking study filled with books and weird decorations and objects. Incense filled the air, making him feel a touch light headed. Wong gestured and the rail of blueish smoke curling up from a brazier in a corner ceased.

Tony waited, passively. He was being forced to play by Wong's rules, that was the lesson. Fair enough. He might have done the same thing if their situations were reversed. Had done. Thor had been pretty damned arrogant in the beginning, until Tony showed him that even the power of the gods could be matched by enough technology.

“Mutual respect is the only basis for a comfortable working relationship,” Wong remarked.

“I’ll…try to keep that in mind.” Tony forced meekness into his tone. It left a bitter taste on his tongue.

Wong waved Tony into a seat, then seated himself. "Tea?"

"Yes. Please." He thought he saw Wong's lips twitch. He knows I don't drink tea. _Hell. At this point I'd drink battery acid if it would get me what I need_.

A teacup floated to him and he took it gingerly. He took a sip. Not bad, actually. It tasted like orange blossoms and was just the perfect temperature.

Wong sipped at his own tea. He was obviously waiting for something.

"I need your help."

Wong cocked his head. "No excuses, Mr. Stark? No 'I've been dead for five months, so cut me a little slack'? That door was over five thousand years old."

"No excuses. I'm an asshole." He wondered when _I'm an asshole_ had come to define him as a person. It described pretty much all of his interactions with people these days. Only with his AIs, and with Pepper and Rhodey, was he something different. Sometimes. "I'm aware that I can't replace it, no matter how much money I throw at it."

"Quite true," Wong nodded. After a moment, he went on "You are an asshole. However, such things may be anticipated and I am aware of your emotional limitations. As for the door, it is old enough that it has developed a separate sentience, as such things do when exposed to the degree of magic as the sanctum radiates. Please bear that in mind in the future. Any of the artifacts in this house may be sentient, just as your created artifacts may be sentient."

Shit. "You mean I just killed a sentient being?" A being like Friday, just trying to protect its creator?

"Fortunately not. You merely discorporated its material form. It will require some time to re-acquire it. You may have noticed that it was still capable of performing its primary function, that of disallowing access to the sanctum without permission."

Tony took another sip of tea, wondering what was expected of him. "Should I apologize? To the door?"

"Another time, perhaps." Wong leaned back. "Do you know how you came to be here?"

The urge to say something snarky rose, and Tony forced it back down. “Do you mean here, at Strange’s sanctum, or…” he waved his hand. “Back in the real world.”

“The latter.”

"No. I thought...I assumed Thanos and I would just go out together." It was a price he had willingly paid, knowing it would bring them back. Peter. Vision. Half the world.

Strange.

"You did. But Stephan got his hands on the Reality Stone, and, unbeknownst to those guarding the stones, wished that immediately after Thanos ceased to exist, your soul would be taken into the Soul Stone. He explained that it was the only solution he could find which would not cause worse problems later."

"Why? Why did he care? Why couldn’t he just take the win?"

Wong hesitated. "It is not my place to answer questions of so intimate a nature," he said, finally, taking another sip of tea and held the cup against his lips.

Defense mechanism, Tony guessed. He glanced ruefully at his own tea. He and Wong exchanged glances.

Wong set his tea down. "I know that you have come, hoping that there is a way to bring Stephan back out of the Soul Stone."

"Is there?"

"Anything is possible."

"Then let's do it."

"Even if 'doing it' brought Thanos back into existence?"

For a moment, Tony considered the question. The stones had been separated, and most of the heroes that had fought him were restored. He could be hunted down. Strange could probably track him down.

But no. He had no right to take a chance like that. Not for the life of a single man. No matter how much he owed that man. "I can't. Do that."

Wong nodded. "Good. I had to know if this was a choice or an obsession. And if you were capable of making good choices," he added with just a hint of sarcasm.

 _Huh. Not quite so Kung-Foo-Grasshopper-Monkish as he pretends to be_. Tony tossed the last of his tea down and set the cup on the table beside Wong's. "Do you have a more sensible idea?"

"I have instructions from the Eye. And a theory."

"Keep talking. I've risked my life on a theory, more than once."

"That does not recommend your common sense. Just before Stephan traded places with you, he sent his cloak and the Eye of Agamotto back to the sanctum. It was not happy with his decision. The connection between the Eye and Stephan has been temporarily severed, but it has refused to replace him. The connection can be remade if Stephan reaches out.”

“So, somebody just needs to tell him to make the call.”

“Essentially.”

“I tried to get back in. They wouldn’t let me.”

“The Eye can help. Two stones, of equal power. You have been inside the Soul Stone. The Eye can use your connection to send you back in.”

“And get him out? Great. I’m in. Now, how do we keep Strange from turning right around and doing the same thing?”

“That will be up to the Eye. I theorize that once it has him back it will refuse to make another exchange.”

“Yeah…the other rock wasn’t happy about Strange and I playing our one-upsmanship games either.”

“Is that what you are doing?”

“Sure. What else?” Stark looked down at his empty teacup.

Wong let the silence of his disapproval fill the room.

“But then we’d already established that I’m an asshole,” Tony reminded him.

“The fate of the universe is not a fit subject for humor.”

“We’re not discussing the fate of the universe. Strange and I already took care of that. For now, it least. This is just between the two of us.”

“I suppose so,” Wong said with a sigh. “Very well. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Tony. You’re scaring me. I don’t understand, what are you going to do?” Friday’s voice piped out of his chest radio.

“What I have to, baby girl.”

“You don’t have to. Why can’t you just stay? We need you. The world needs you.”

“Naw. There are a lot of heroes that can take my place. Anyone can wear the armor. Lots of people can invent. And anyone can spend my money. Strange…there’s only one of him. Nobody can do what he can do. Right, Wong?”

“You are both unique and irreplaceable individuals,” Wong said diplomatically.

Tony snorted. “You’ll be okay, Friday. You and Vision. Murdock will take care of you. I’m grateful to Strange for giving me the chance to set things right, but now I need to fix one last thing.”

“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind, is there?”

“Not a thing. You know I love you, baby girl, but I have to do what I know is right. I’m sorry.”

“If you’ll come with me, then,” said Wong.


End file.
